Lozhit'sya spat'
by CorvusNorbs
Summary: "Go to bed". The Black Widow Project has transformed every aspect of Natasha Romanov's life. Some of it is for the worst, some of it is for the better. From child to assassin, Shield to honorary Avenger, she has managed to grow apart from the pieces that threatened to destroy her. So why is it that just one, small habit has managed to weigh on her over the years?


_Taken from the concept presented in "Marvel's Agent Carter" where Peggy and the Howling Commandos journey into the heart of Soviet Russia to uncover the origins of the Black Widow Program. It revealed the fact that in The Red Room Academy, a precursor to the Red Widow Program, the initiates were handcuffed to their beds and released every night. It was an interesting concept that I wanted to explore being carried over to Natasha and her life experiences._

 _The only Marvel-related knowledge I have is from the cinematic side of the house, so I apologize if I mess something up or gloss over something that may seem obvious to most people. It's a work in progress!_

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 **Chapter One: Ritual Decompression**

 _ **Location: [DELETED], Belarus, Soviet Union, Europe  
Date: [DELETED]**_

Natalia Romanova was experiencing an orbital rim fracture. Already the tender skin around her right eye was turning various shades of blue and black, swelling up as her eyelid began to shut involuntarily. Appearances, however, could be altered. It was the double vision that was worrying her now as the man in front of her became a mixture of movement and blurs. The strike itself had numbed her forehead and a large majority of her face, acting as a double edged sword against any future strikes. She wouldn't necessarily feel them, but there was an increased chance of being knocked out. She knew this from experience. She had to act quickly.

The man was another faceless competitor in a long line of fights. He was approximately 6' 3", 200lbs of well worked muscle contained in a fitted, black workout suit. He hadn't said a single word, not that she expected him to. Despite his large size and towering figure, he was quick; Very quick. Quick enough to turn her on her feet more than once since the fight began.

Her eyes trailed over to the timer in the corner of the room; three minutes, twenty-four seconds.

She leapt at him, narrowly avoiding a palmed strike as she managed to grab onto his extended arm, using the momentum to wrap her legs around his neck, sliding the strengthened piano wire out from her jacket. In one fluid motion the wire was strung around his neck, above and below his Adams Apple, kicking off his chest as she fell towards the ground, arms crossing her body.

Whatever noise he attempted to make caught in his throat, coming out a sick gargle as he crashed to the ground. It took less than five seconds, his body violently thrashing before an unsettling calm overcame the room.

The timer let out a long, steady beep as the counting finished; three minutes, fifty-four seconds.

Her eye was throbbing, now completely swollen shut. She let out a sigh she hadn't realized she had been holding. Her breath was shaky and short. She wanted to collapse, but knew better than to show any real sign of pain or weakness. Her arm raised in the air with a closed fist, signaling the end of the fight.

Heavy metal doors opened from behind her, an Instructor and a Cleaning Team entering the room. The Cleaning Teams all looked identical to her, baring very minimal differences. They wore white, plain hazmat suits that covered every inch of skin. Goggles shielded their eyes, a respirator allowing them to breathe despite the most deplorable conditions. They worked in teams of three, sharing the responsibility of removing, cleaning, and disposing of the failures and expendables within the program. They worked quietly and quickly, never making eye contact and never saying a word. The thinnest of them held a small, portable electric handsaw. A button was pressed and a mechanical whirl echoed in the small, empty room.

Natalia turned away from them, following in behind the Instructor. She was an older lady, somewhere between fifty-five and sixty with long, thin blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail. Silver had crept in on either side of her head rising up from behind her ears. Cold, icy blue eyes peered at her from behind thin rimmed glasses. Despite her age she carried herself with the type of grace and authority that spoke volumes. She called herself Eva. Whether or not that was her real name was impossible to determine.

She was led to a single-room bathroom at the end of a narrow corridor she was unfamiliar with. Eva told her that she had five minutes to clean up, a reward for a clean and successful kill. The bathroom itself was simple. Plain white tiles lined the floor and walls, stopping halfway up to reveal cement-plastered, unfinished ceiling over barren walls. A shower with no curtain or closings, a toilet with no closable lid, and a sink attached firmly to the wall with a single mirror above it. The only difference was that the sink had two knobs for water flow; hot and cold.

Hot water was something she hadn't experienced in two years now.

She carefully turned the knob, cautious to not be overly optimistic. It wouldn't be the first misleading she experienced while in the program, and certainly not the last. Her swollen eye parted ever so slightly, surprise evident on her face as her hands began to burn. Actual hot water. The corner of her lips turned to a small, reserved smile. She relished in the feeling, ignoring the growing heat waving up her arms, trying desperately to commit the feeling to memory.

Everything within the compound was stone, metal, or ice. There was no warmth to be found within these ancient, buried walls. Endless layers of structured, organized purpose with the goal of turning out highly skilled, effective killing machines. There was no room for any real sense of humanity. Until now she thought it impossible for the pipes to produce warm water given the outside temperatures and long, endless winters.

 _Crack._

Pain exploded across her face, vision swimming as she fought the urge to wretch. She hadn't even heard Eva come into the bathroom. She had connected perfectly with the right side of her face, layering her fist over the swollen, discolored flesh. Natalia fell into the wall, trying to stabilize herself before sliding down onto the floor. Her mind was racing a million thoughts a minute, reevaluating what had happened. It struck her almost as hard as Eva just did. _She smiled._ The mirror in the bathroom was a two-way. She had showed emotion. Feeling. Weakness.

"Lozhit'sya spat', Natalia." Eva's voice lingered in her thoughts before she gave into unconsciousness.

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Natalia woke with a start, sharp breath puncturing the stillness of the pitch black room. Immediately she was reminded of the pain in her face, the blissful numbing of earlier clearly worn off. She was unable to open her eye at all, even with the most brazen attempt. She gave herself a few minutes, concentrating on her breathing as she could feel herself calm down, heart rate lowering. She took stock of her situation. She was laying down flat on her back, a familiar sensation that only added to her calming. She was in her cot, which explained the unnerving darkness of the room. No windows, no cracks in the walls or ceilings, no nothing. Just darkness.

The mattress was a gray-in-color, ugly thing with rusted metal coils just beneath the surface. Some poked through the thin material, but she had learned to adjust herself to avoid those troublesome spots. The bed was a simple metal framing with low bars that made up a headboard. It was her designated sleeping room, so there was nothing but a bed. No personal items, no clothes, no desks or furniture… A single, heavy metal door was seated in the wall behind her, locked shut from the outside as per usual. She had attempted on multiple occasions to count the number of locks on the door, but each night it changed and she was beginning to believe there was no end to the reinforcements on that single door alone. It was an effective message to deter any escape attempts.

There had been one girl, Salina, was her name. She had managed to get through a door that was improperly secured within the compound. It took the Cleaning Team six days to get that room back in order. Eva had only smiled, informing the girls that there was no room for error within the program. Salina had become an error, and just like any other error, she had been removed.

Her hand gingerly reached up to brush against her face, biting back the urge to hiss out as pain shot through the very core of her being. Facial fractures were especially painful, she was beginning to realize. She lightly brushed over her body in a methodical manner, inventorying her injuries. Eva must have done more to her when she finally fainted, her entire body was sore with dried blood clinging to various places.

Her left arm was raised above her head, hand in between the metal bars of the headboard, handcuff clamped tightly around her wrist, connected to the headboard itself by a small chain. It had taken time, but she learned to sleep without cutting circulation off to her arm. It took longer yet, learning how to sleep so that the metal wouldn't leave cuts across her wrist from shifting throughout the night.

It was a nightly ritual, the only thing in the Red Room that hadn't changed. When she went to bed, she was locked in place to the headboard by a single arm, always her left. In the morning she would be released and the day would reset. There was no guarantee what the day would bring, but at the end there would always be the bed and the handcuff. Over time it had become a sickening comfort.

Even today on Natalia's eighth birthday, broken and bloody and bruised…and handcuffed.


End file.
